


"We Rob Banks...Sometimes. Well, Not Really."

by purplesucculent



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Don't worry, Fluff, M/M, Some light angst, bc that shit is hilarious to me, brain empty apart from these immortal bitches and tbh it shows, i have no words i am sorry, i just had an idea and it spiralled, nothing soul destroying, yet another take on these immortals robbing museums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesucculent/pseuds/purplesucculent
Summary: In which Joe and Nicky are kind of like Bonnie and Clyde and Andy has to shed light on their various escapades and missions throughout history to Booker where that has more or less been the case.(Or: Nicky and Joe steal shit because I said so)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 4
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't had this beta read so... sorry if there's any mistakes! Feel free to let me know if there are!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "These motherfuckers think they're Bonnie and Clyde, Andy!" Booker shouted, running out of patience for Joe and Nicky's antics. Joe and Nicky sprinted out of a chain supermarket, arms overflowing with food and shouting at a family across the road to follow them. Ever since they'd seen that film last month, in Booker’s opinion, they'd made it their mission to re-enact Miss Parker and Mr Barrows' acts of questionable heroism.
> 
> “Did you even watch the film, Book? They rob banks. Nicky and Joe are stealing from a supermarket.” She replied, lighting up a cigarette.
> 
> “We literally robbed a bank last week, boss.”

**_Antwerp_ **

**_February 1968_**

"These motherfuckers think they're Bonnie and Clyde, Andy!" Booker shouted, running out of patience for Joe and Nicky's antics. Joe and Nicky sprinted out of a chain supermarket, arms overflowing with food and shouting at a family across the road to follow them. Ever since they'd seen that film last month, in Booker’s opinion, they'd made it their mission to re-enact Miss Parker and Mr Barrows' acts of questionable heroism.

“Did you even watch the film, Book? They rob banks. Nicky and Joe are stealing from a supermarket.” She replied, lighting up a cigarette.

“ _We,_ _literally,_ robbed a bank last week, boss.”

“Yes, but that was to stop some fucking politicians from money laundering - point taken.” Andy took a drag of her cigarette, scrunching up her nose at the taste: these were the cigarettes they put camel shit or something in, fantastic. "They kind of are like Bonnie and Clyde though, Booker," She replied, taking another drag unconsciously before pulling a face in disgust at the camel shit cigarettes, "The originals, too. If anything."

"Care to indulge me, Andy? I need a couple of examples – I’m not quite seeing it just yet." He asked, taking a sip from his pint.

He and Andy were sat in a pub across the road from the supermarket Joe and Nicky had just sprinted out of. They were on the lookout for any trouble the two could have encountered if any police were in the area or someone in the shop had decided to chase them for stealing. Luckily, none of those things happened: no police were around and no one in the shop was getting paid enough to want to help out the big corporation who owned it out, so, free food for that family it was.

“Well, they’ve been stealing back people’s shit for them for centuries, as well as actively hating the authorities. You know this, you've been with us for a century.” She was about to take another drag from her cigarette before deciding to stub it out in the glass ashtray in the centre of the table, “They’re kind of a mix between Bonnie and Clyde and Robin Hood. That would be more accurate.”

Andy paused to think some more, also taking a sip from her pint. “Maybe giving them the title of “couple who steals for the good of humanity” would be more accurate but comparing them to famous figures is more fun.”

Booker laughed,

“Certainly more entertaining, boss.”

**_Cairo_ **

**_1907_ **

The Museum of Islamic Art in Cairo, as it’s known today, had officially opened in 1903. It had had a previous incarnation in the late 1800s named the Arab Museum, and then later, after having a new building built, changed its name to The House of Arab Antiquities. Nonetheless, the museum held masses upon masses of Islamic art and antiquities from dating back centuries to almost a millennium. The museum held artefacts ranging from glass, metals, and ceramics to manuscripts, weapons, and jewellery.

It had come to Andy’s attention a few months ago, after an extremely interesting mission in Cairo, that maybe Nicky and Joe could benefit from a visit from this museum. After all, they had lost many things over their time spent wandering the Arab regions before she had met them – she’d heard many stories from both Joe and Nicky about the things they had lost over time: from pieces of jewellery they had gotten for each other, to pieces of poetry or love letters they’d written each other. Maybe they could recover some of those things themselves, she thought.

Now, funnily enough, they were back again in Cairo for another mission, maybe on one of their days off they could have a… look (burglary) in the museum.

“Hey,” she called, walking over to them. They were sat over at the dining table of the safe house they were staying in along with Booker. “Didn’t you lose a ring or something that looked like this?” she finished, placing a newspaper cutting from an article discussing a new addition to one of the museum’s various collections onto the table.

Nicky peered over his plate of food, pulling the newspaper nearer to him, humming in agreement as Joe laughed at Andy.

“The amount of shit we’ve lost around here over time is fairly worrying,” Joe continued until Nicky nudged his elbow with a noise of surprise, nearly knocking his drink over.

“Joe, amore mio, they have the poem you wrote for me.” He said, pointing at another, smaller picture in the article.

“That… that looks like the ring you gave to me too, my heart.” Joe replied, moving to take a closer look.

He looked heartbroken, longing to read the words he wrote for Nicky so long ago, whilst his lover looked like he was devising a plan to get their shit back. Booker looked at them both from across the table and sighed.

“I’ll go and scope out the place. See how we can get in.”

Right. That was settled, then.

***

They’d come up with, maybe, ten percent of a plan. So, things didn’t look like they were going to go very well for them. Maybe a couple of deaths – them or the museum guards meeting their, possibly brief, end had yet to be calculated into the aforementioned shit plan. The plan was as follows: break into the museum, steal their shit back and leave. It was straightforward at least, but the lacking detail of _“How the fuck to we execute this?”_ proved to be a slight issue for the team.

Andy had made them wait until nightfall to actually rob the place. In hindsight, it would have definitely been better to take a trip to the museum and locate Yusuf’s poem and Nicolò’s ring, but hey, they only had ten percent of a plan. They were too antsy to prepare properly. It was _paramount_ that they got their love declarations back.

_(“Couldn’t you at least leave the poem? Imagine what that will mean for the academics! An explicitly queer poem recovered from fuck knows where and not written by the hand of a famous poet?!”_

_“I will write them a new one! They are not keeping this one, Booker!”)_

Andy had also made Joe and Nicky split up. Nicky with her and Joe with Booker – she didn’t want them going feral, plus she and Booker didn't exactly, precisely know what they were looking for. Additionally, Nicky and Joe were both really good at working the other up without even realising it. So, for their plan, or lack thereof, they were better off apart.

On their way in, Andy had picked up a map for the museum and instructed Nicky and Joe to find whatever halls they needed to retrieve their belongings from. Once they found the ‘Jewellery’ and ‘Manuscripts’ halls, respectively, Andy and Nicky headed off to the prior, whilst Booker and Joe the latter.

Luckily for them, the guards were patrolling the halls of the museum and not the entrance, so they had entered rather smoothly. Things could only go so well for so long, though.

As soon as they turned the corner from the entrance and went down the corridor towards the Jewellery hall, Andy and Nicky encountered two guards. At least they weren’t outnumbered, Andy thought momentarily, before two more headed in on the attack.

_(“Ok, you take the first two and I’ll get the others.”_

_“You got it, boss.”)_

***

Whilst Andy and Nicky were dealing with some of the guards, Joe and Booker swiftly decided to hurry up their search for the Manuscript hall and lucky for them, it was located in the complete opposite direction. Away from the majority of the guards.

“Remind me again, Joe,” Booker began as he carefully turned another corner, walking past the Weapons hall and carrying straight on (just as Nicky and the map had instructed, fairly assertively), “Why is this poem so important to you and Nicky? And I am asking out of genuine curiosity – I do not wish to upset you by asking.”

Joe looked to be deep in thought as he and Booker reached further and further down the corridor, getting closer with every step to the Manuscript hall's doors.

“It is the first poem I ever wrote for Nicolò. The first time I ever told him I loved him.” Joe let out after a moment.

Booker whistled out, impressed.

“That must be fucking ancient.”

“It is. I wrote it quite some time ago. Sometime either in the late 1100s or early 1200s - time all blended back together at the start. I believe we were travelling from Tunisia to Egypt. We’d stopped to rest for a few days and just relished in each other’s company. We were by the sea and I just have this vivid memory of how he looked as the wind blew his hair in his face when he was laughing at me burning our dinner. Whilst he was sleeping next to me, before the fire burnt out, I wrote the poem.”

“When did you give it to him?” Booker asked, softly, as they neared closer to the end of the hall.

“The next morning, as soon as he awoke,” Joe replied as they finally reached the doors for the Manuscripts hall. He stopped abruptly outside the door; hand poised over the handle.

“It’ll be in there, Joe,” Booker’s voice came out softer than before as he placed his hand on Joe’s shoulder, “It will be in there.”

***

Andy and Nicky had successfully… persuaded… the guards to let them ransack the Jewellery hall for Nicky’s ring. Nicky entered, frantically looking in each of the glass cases for it. Andy followed behind, looking more carefully in each of the cases that Nicky had quickly glanced over, just in case he had missed it – though she doubted it.

Nicky had told her and Quynh sometime in the 1400s about the ring one night as Joe lay asleep, curled up next to him. It was the first of a few rings he had given Joe over the years. Since marriage was a totally different thing in their day compared to how it was starting to be perceived as of recent, it wasn’t a ring for marriage per se, though it did hold the same purpose and meaning. The ring was gifted from Nicky to Joe the same way Joe had gifted his poem to Nicky. With an indescribable amount of love.

Nicky had given it to Joe after they’d earned some money, before meeting Andy and Quynh, soon after Joe had given him the poem. They had reached Egypt and Nicolò had rushed his way to a merchant’s stall early one morning, before Yusuf woke up, to buy the ring. The one he had ended up choosing was a warm gold and covered in swirling, intricate patterns. He had met Yusuf back at their camp, taken his lover’s face in his hands and kissed him. Yusuf had laughed asking Nicolò what that was all about as he pulled the ring up in front of Yusuf’s eyes and taken his hand, kissing the ring before placing it in his palm.

Yusuf had slid the ring onto his right hand, fingers shaking before reaching for Nicolò and taking him in his arms, cradling his head in his hands.

“Hey,” she shouted over to Nicky, “Hey! Slow down, we’ll find it. We saw it in the newspaper, it has to be here.”

Nicky took in a shaky breath, eyes glassy as he looked back at Andy who was taking a close look at some of the cases they hadn’t yet checked.

“ _Sì_ , yes, okay. _Va bene_.” He pressed his palms against his eyes, then rubbed at his face murmuring something.

“You bring the lock pick? I think if we’re stealing from them the least we can do is not make a mess.” Andy said as she placed her hand on top of one of the glass cases, tapping with a finger at its contents.

Nicky let out a choked gasp.

***

As soon as Joe and Booker had made it into the Manuscript hall, they’d spotted Joe’s poem. It was hung inside of a frame as the central piece to the hall. Joe let out a slight gasp as he got closer to it.

“They must _really_ like it.”

“Too bad. It’s Nicky’s.”

Carefully, they removed the frame from the wall, taking the poem out of it slowly due to the parchment's – yes, _parchment's_ – age. The poem was written in a messy, yet careful and calculated, scrawl in an old Tunisian Arabic dialect. It was a fairly short poem, but the few stanzas it held were enough to bring emotion to the forefront of its reader – no matter who.

“Joe…” Booker let out a breath, he couldn’t even begin to describe what he’d read - from what he could make out anyway. His Arabic wasn’t his strong suit, but from what he could understand… _wow_.

“Some of it’s faded away,” Joe remarked miserably, as he cautiously folded the poem across the well-folded creases of the parchment, “I think I still remember it though. I will have to write it back on for him.” He reverently placed the poem in his bag, making sure that it would not tear or crease any more than it had already.

“Hey,” Booker called, “There’s another one over here with similar handwriting. Come take a look, Joe.”

As Joe looked at the manuscript Booker had pointed him too, he let out a laugh. “Yes, that is mine, also. Though, that one was from a while after. More of an apology poem.”

“What did you do?” Booker laughed carefully - he couldn't tell how serious Joe's expression was.

He made a sound of dismissal. “Doesn’t matter. That one can stay.”

***

As Andy picked the lock with precision and ease, Nicky watched on, hands shaking. Immediately after she’d got the case open, Nicky lurched forward, reaching for the ring with shaking hands. Finally grasping it, he bought it close to his heart, letting out a breath of relief.

They both stood there in silence for a few moments: Nicky in utter awe at the return of their ring and Andy in shock at something else across the room.

She drew closer to a glass case, a few cases down from where Nicky's ring was, and stared into it.

“Boss,” Nicky called walking over to her, “What is it, boss?”

It was a necklace. A very old and beautiful necklace encrusted with sapphires and emeralds. Andy’s hand was pressed firmly on the glass, as she stood unmoving, staring. Putting the ring on his finger, Nicky moved her hand, smashing the glass with his and pulling out the necklace. He did so with his unbloodied hand to spare the necklace. God knows what would happen to Andy if the necklace were to be ruined.

“Quynh’s,” He said, giving it over to Andy, “Let’s go.”

***

As they reconvened at the entrance, walking past the museum guards tied up in the foyer, Nicky crashed into Joe’s arms, holding him close. Taking his face in his hands, he pressed his forehead against Nicky’s, softly murmuring the words from the poem into his ear.

Tears pooled in both of their eyes.

Nicky smiled pulling the ring off his finger then taking Joe’s hand in his, kissing his knuckles before he slid the ring onto his lover’s, his fucking everything’s hand.

Booker looked on at them both, smiling slightly, as he held a tearful Andy in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!! Thank you for reading this rubbish I wrote at 2am!!
> 
> Unfortunately, I cannot write poetry, but the vibe I was getting from Joe is poetry like I saw in this tumblr post, if you were curious and/or wanted some ethereal poetry snippets to read:
> 
> https://fartsinablanket.tumblr.com/post/626091828747419648


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What did Andy say the plan was? Like, the main plan, because I understood the ‘kill the Nazis’ part but, what’s our actual goal, aside from that?” Joe asked, squatted down behind a wall next to Nicky, who was peering through his sniper, looking towards the base.
> 
> “Gather all evidence regarding ourselves, and of course, the unspoken part: ‘get my fucking Rodin back for me, boys.’” Nicky replied.

**_Antwerp_ **

**_February 1968 - Later That Night_ **

Nicky had helped Joe cook them all dinner. Andy didn’t trust Nicky in the Antwerp safe house’s kitchen. He’d once set the kitchen slightly on fire – that wasn’t at all helpful. Anyway. The Guard were all sat around the rickety, old dining table as they shovelled down Joe’s special tagine.

Continuing their conversation from earlier, Booker said, mouthful of couscous, “Andy was reminding me of times that you two have been like Bonnie and Clyde.”

Joe hummed in agreement.

“It’s more from museums than banks, though.” Nicky added after a moment of thought.

“That, I can definitely see as a trend.” Booker laughed, “Any other times, Andy?”

She grinned, mouthful of vegetables, “Yeah, actually. Seriously Booker, you were here for all of these, try harder!”

**_Casablanca_ **

**_1942_ **

The Nazis had invaded Morocco. Shit. They couldn’t stay and help for long, they had to get out of there – they’d been discovered. The previous night their safe house had been raided by the Nazis. They’d taken all sorts of things, ranging from intel on a mission they had been working on to Andy’s Rodin. Right now, she could care less about being discovered – they’d taken her fucking Rodin!

Whilst Andy and Booker were helping citizens receive safe passage to the US via Portugal by taking control of local port as well as an airport, Joe and Nicky were on Nazi retcon duty: they needed to erase their existence in Morocco, especially from Nazis, they didn’t want to become weaponised or anything. (Defo did not want a Hellboy situation.)

The Nazis were currently holed up in a secret base just outside of the city centre of Casablanca. Luckily, only a few were in the actual base itself: most were out on patrol in case of any escapees.

“What did Andy say the plan was? Like, the main plan, because I understood the ‘kill the Nazis’ part but, what’s our actual goal, aside from that?” Joe asked, squatted down behind a wall next to Nicky, who was peering through his sniper, looking towards the base.

“Gather all evidence regarding ourselves, and of course, the unspoken part: ‘get my fucking Rodin back for me, boys.’” Nicky replied, momentarily moving from looking down his sniper, to Joe instead, smiling as he’d thought he’d nailed her internal monologue perfectly.

Joe rolled his eyes, “If we don’t come back with that fucking Rodin, I think she’ll disown us.”

“Even if we complete the other half of the mission?” Nicky replied, looking back through his sniper.

“Oh, definitely.” Joe followed suit and looked through his binoculars.

Nicky laughed for a moment until he spotted movement and swiftly shot the target.

“ _Andiamo_. _Dai._ ”

As the pair drew nearer to the poorly lit outer part of building, Joe noticed an entrance that had been left open. What the fuck.

“Do you think they were expecting us, Nicky?” He whispered.

“I have no clue but let’s… not go in that way.” Nicky responded, scrunching his nose up.

The two circled around the building looking for a more… hidden and less obvious entrance, one that would most likely take the people inside by surprise, until they decided their best bet would be to enter through a dark window in the back of the building.

Once they’d climbed through, they were met with an eerie silence. The room they’d entered was only lit via a crack of light spilling under a door leading to a hallway. Joe gestured for Nicky to follow him out of the room as he took a right out of the door towards where they believed the main office were to be. Nicky nodded affirmatively and followed suit. The long corridor was brightly lit and seemed to go on for a while, until they heard voices talking from the main office ahead.

They would have expected the voices to have been speaking in German, since the building was the Nazi’s and they had that whole genocidal racism thing going on, the voices, however, were talking in Arabic. And they sounded like locals. What was even stranger, was that they didn’t sound like they were prisoners or being held hostage, it sounded like _they_ had taken the few Nazi soldiers who were guarding the building hostage instead.

Joe and Nicky exchanged a confused glance, before deciding that the only way they were going to get this mission done, was to carry on. Maybe one of them was going to have to get injured in the process. They lowered their weapons and Joe went to open the door, only to be greeted with a bullet in the chest.

Falling backwards, Nicky expertly caught him before saying to the locals, “Don’t shoot! We’re not with them! We came for things of ours that got taken in the raids!”

Joe slowly revived, still being held up by Nicky as the latter spoke to the locals, taking in a gasp of breath, moving to look at the now healed wound in his abdomen.

“Oh my god, Amina, you shot an innocent!” One of the young men exclaimed, who stood towards the back of the group. There were four of them in total. Amina, presumably the woman stood at the front with a gun in her hand, smiled apologetically upon seeing that the man she had shot was clearly okay.

“No, it’s okay, I’m okay.” Joe reassured the group, “We just need to get a few things and we’ll be out of your way.” He finished, moving to stand up properly, but not before giving Nicky’s arms a comforting squeeze.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Nicky asked, “Do you need any help with,” he gestured dismissively at the two Nazi guards who were knocked out, tied up and gagged on the floor, “ _that_?”

The man who had spoken before, Omar, took a look at Nicky and Joe who were covered head to toe in… riot gear? He wasn’t sure, but they looked like they meant business.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind helping us, we’d gladly take it.”

“We were trying to cut off their communications, to try and at least hinder them. Give everyone some more time to try and escape. We know we can’t stop them. We just wanted to try and help.” Another man, Hassan, said.

“We had gotten quite far. We just weren’t sure of what to do with those.” The final member of the group, another woman, Fatima, said as she too gestured dismissively at the Nazis on the floor.

Joe and Nicky exchanged a glance.

“We’ll take care of them for you.”

“Fill us in. What have you done?”

***

Joe and Nicky had helped the locals destroy all the Nazis communication tools and intel they had in their base, before collecting and subsequently burning the information they’d found on themselves.

They’d managed to find the Rodin hidden amongst a bunch of other shit that had been declared ‘contraband’.

_(“Andy’s going to be so pleased.”_

_“She fucking better be.”)_

The group of locals were on their way. Nicky and Joe had sent them and whoever they wished to tell, in the direction of the ports Andy and Booker were in control of in hopes of getting them out if they so wished to leave.

But one question still remained.

“What are we going to do with these fucking Nazis, Nicky?” Joe asked, hands on hips, leering over the now conscious Nazis.

Nicky just laughed.

***

They’d made it back to Andy and Booker who were boarding a ship set for France, Rodin in tow, carried between the two because that shit was fucking heavy. As soon as they came into Andy’s line of sight, she beamed, running to meet them as they boarded the ship.

_(“This is going to be fucking difficult to manoeuvre.”_

_“Shut up, Booker."_

_"No, seriously, are we going to have to carry this the entire way?")_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Italian Nicky said at one point (I'm pretty sure is accurate, but correct me if it's not, for I haven't seen my Italian teacher in two (2) years): 
> 
> Andiamo = Let's go  
> Dai = Come on
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
